Hillbilly Elegy

relatively flat plot of land that serves as
the final resting place for Papaw and
Mamaw Blanton and a host of relatives,
some born in the nineteenth century.
That’s where our convoy was headed,
through the narrow mountain roads, to
deliver Mamaw to the family who’d
crossed over before her.
I’ve made that drive with a funeral
convoy probably half a dozen times, and
every turn reveals a landscape that
inspires some memory of fonder times.
It’s impossible to sit in the car for the
twenty-minute trip and not trade stories
about the departed, all of which start out
“Do you remember that time... ?” But
after Mamaw’s funeral, we didn’t recall